yours.

[52] Jasper

We end up going to the cinema. I can tell Miles wants to ask me more questions, or try to console me more after my... meltdown in his car, but he's scared of triggering another one. And I can't say I blame him. That mad version of me scared me, too.

That hasn't happened to me since the day Max died, when I became so hysterical my father had to drag me out of the hospital and away from people in order to even get a word in between my shrieks. I still remember that day so vividly, with the rain and the sirens...

But I'm not thinking about that right now. Now, I'm thinking about the feeling of Miles' hand in mine on the armrest between our theatre seats. It's very warm. And quite painful, actually.

I talked him into buying us tickets for a horror movie -- I'm sure he only agreed because he didn't want to say no to me, especially not today -- and now I'm starting to regret it. I've enjoyed the movie so far, but Miles' tight grip on my hand makes it difficult to really stay focused on it. I glance over at him. Bathed in the dim light of the screen, I can tell his face is very pale, and his green eyes are wide and afraid. I kind of feel bad for him.

"Miles," I whisper, then repeat it when he doesn't look over at me. He tears his gaze away from the screen enough to look at me, terrified. "Do you want to leave?"

He shakes his head quickly. "No," he hisses, his voice shaking. "You said you wanted to see it, and who knows, having you here might actually... help--" Everyone in the audience screams at a jump scare, and Miles jumps, sending popcorn flying across his lap. I stifle a grin.

"Looks like I'm helping a lot."

He looks back over at me, his shoulders sinking an inch as he looks away from the gory images on the screen. "You really like this stuff?" Someone kicks the back of his chair, telling him to be quiet, and he glares back at them. 

I shrug at his question. "I don't know, I guess," I whisper back. "It's nice for escapism."

"Right, haunted dolls and demonic clowns -- the perfect getaway."

I grin, leaning closer to him. "Well, maybe not perfect."

"Only decent?"

"Just okay." Then I kiss him, and he finally relaxes, his eyes drifting closed. The people around us shift, leaning away from the affection, and that only makes us kiss more, and harder, until it's audible, and it's clear we're disrupting others in the theatre. I start to pull away, but Miles draws me back toward him, connecting our lips again. The simple act is enough to heighten my senses to a new level, to make me want more.

"Miles?" I murmur against his mouth.

"Hm?"

"We should get out of here."

"Mhm."

But neither of us makes a move to leave, not even when we finally part, redirecting our attention to the massive screen in front of us. For the rest of the movie, our hands stay locked, but this time, Miles' hand isn't wrapped uncomfortably tight around mine. This time, it's looser, because he isn't watching the movie -- he's watching me.

* * *

"No. Nope, no way."

Miles chases me up his driveway. "Okay, but it's warm, and it's buttery--"

"And it's a million calories. No thank you."

Miles reaches into his pocket for his house keys. "So is Coke. And when you think about it, popcorn comes from corn, which is a fruit--"

"Vegetable," I correct, laughing.

He waves me off, still looking for his keys. "Same thing. But yeah, popcorn is technically healthy, so... it should... Hey, have you seen my keys?"

I draw them out of my jacket pocket, dangling them in front of him. He tries to grab them, but I move them away before he can. He watches me, raising a dark eyebrow. I rise onto my toes to smooth a finger over it, telling him, "Just admit Coke is better than movie theatre popcorn, and I'll give you your keys back."

He drops a hand on my waist, keeping me in place against him. "No."

I reach out a hand to jostle the front door's handle, displaying its locked state. "Guess we're stuck out here, then."

He groans, mumbling, "Fine. Coke is better than popcorn."

"Movie theatre popcorn."

He buries his nose in my hair. "Coke is better than movie theatre popcorn."

Grinning, I hand him his keys. He moves to unlock the door, then pauses. "Um, Jasper. So. She's not home yet, but I just thought you should know that my mom... knows."

My heart drops. "About us?" Slowly, he nods. "You told her?" I don't know why he would. He knows I don't want the news spreading to my father, and it doesn't seem like he wanted to go public around his family, either. So I don't know how she'd know, unless...

"She guessed. She said she saw how I 'looked at you,' or something. But yeah, she knows, but we don't have to worry about it 'cause she won't be home for a few more hours."

I stare up at him, caught on his words. "She said something about the way you look at me?"

"Yeah..."

"Oh." I don't need a mirror to know I'm blushing. Not only does Miles say he cares about me -- it's clear in his actions, too. And other people can see it. "Okay."

"You're okay with this? With her... knowing?"

I nod, feeling the sun starting to bore down onto my exposed neck. If she doesn't mind -- or tell my father -- then I'm fine. Happy, really. Happy for Miles. "Can we go inside now? It's hot out here."

He lets us in the house, and we take off our shoes before wandering upstairs to his room, where he slumps into his desk chair, and I flop onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. "How did you get my keys, anyway?" Miles asks after a minute of easy silence.

I sit up and bat my eyes at him. "Can't tell."

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

He flicks a hand in my direction, his tan cheeks coloring. "Acting cute like that. You make me want to kiss you, but I don't want to get up."

I slide off his bed and slink over to him. He still doesn't move, just sits there staring at me in awe. "Here I am." I bend to kiss him--

"Strike Brawl," he blurts, and I stand again.

"What--"

"Let's play Strike Brawl." He spins to face his monitor again, switching it on and loading up the game. I slip my hands onto his shoulders, confused about why he's refusing to kiss me. Is it the popcorn stuff? I think, panicked. Did I piss him off with that?

"Um, Miles--"

"Jasper, if I start kissing you right now, I won't stop. I know it. So I'm just trying to save us both with this..." I lean in to give him a gentle kiss on his cheek. He clenches his jaw, reaching for his game controllers. "Jas," he pleads, but I don't listen.

I kiss him again, on the lips this time, and he forces a controller into my hands.

"Please," he rasps, and I grin, knowing my work is done.

I perch myself on his knee. "Okay." He pulls me closer to him, and together, we watch the opening graphics of the game.

We spend the rest of our time together playing -- if that's what you can even call it, with me defeating him every two minutes -- our favorite game, the house otherwise empty and our minds blissfully full.